


Your Misery Is My Happiness

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, basically everything you'd expect from canon gamrezi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She's miserable, better strung up on one of her nooses, and you've never felt so alive.</i>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Fill for the HSWC Bonus Round 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Misery Is My Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna lie i don't even know why i wrote this because i hate both gamzee and gamrezi what am i doing with my life
> 
> fill for this prompt: http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/19285.html?thread=4750933#cmt4750933

That bitch is on the hunt again. 

Not the one you're worried about, of course. Maryam gave up a long time ago, thank the messiahs. You've got no intention of turning out the same way Eridan did, and what with her freaky-ass rainbow drinker powers you can begrudgingly admit to yourself that her chainsaw is definitely a liability. 

No, you're talking about _your_ bitch, Miss Motherfuckin' Know-It-All Pyrope. You have yet to break her, but it's still amusing to watch her jump whenever she hears the faint honk of a horn, or see the guilt written across her face whenever she plays her silly games with the Dave human. They're nothing but puppets on strings, and the only thing that can liven up this dull meteor is watching them dance for you.

You occupy yourself with watching her patrol the halls as though she actually has a purpose. She's wearing that stupid dragon-hooded cape again with the hood pulled back, tapping her equally stupid cane as she walks. In theory, she shouldn't need it, since even though she's blind she can "see" the world around her just fine. You know that she only carries it because she's expecting you to spring out of the shadows and attack her at any given moment. Admittedly, you do that sometimes, but it's also fun to just sit back and see how the paranoia affects her actions. 

You take note of the way her head turns in every direction, her nose twitching as she sniffs out her environment. God, do you hate her. The more you stare at her, the more you want to see that nauseating teal blood on the walls. Sneering silently, you creep forward to the edge of the vent and peer down through the slats with narrowed eyes. 

She stops a little ways down the hall and takes another careful whiff of her surroundings. It's almost cute how blissfully unaware of your presence she is at the moment. You decide that it's about time you came out to play with her for a bit. 

With practiced skill, you project your voice and let out a soft "honk", making it sound like it came from further down the hall. She whirls to face the perceived source, going completely still and alert. You use that opportunity to slide the vent's door open and drop to the ground below soundlessly. 

For a few seconds, she doesn't give any indication that she heard you. Then she pipes up, "I know you're there, Makara. You're not going to surprise me this time." Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression twisted with contempt.

Your painted lips stretch into an almost innocent-looking grin, but your eyes glitter with malice. "Aww, what's the matter, girl? You don't motherfuckin' like surprises? I was all up and ready to get my hide-and-seek on, too..."

"Cut the crap, Makara," she growls, her knuckles paling as her grip on her cane tightens. "What do you want?"

You quirk a brow, leisurely stepping closer until you're standing several inches away from her. As you approach her, you speak, your tone smug. "You were the one who came seekin' me out... wanderin' the motherfuckin' treacherous hallways like you were up and searchin' for something, gettin' those sniffnodes of yours all worked up. So, I think the real motherfuckin' question here is..." Pausing for dramatic effect, you lean in, your nose almost touching hers. She glares up at you unwaveringly, despite the obvious height difference. "What do _you_ want, sister?"

"For you to become acquainted with breath mints," she replies without missing a beat.

You throw your head back and laugh, hating her attitude and her wit, hating everything about her. 

Her lip curls disgustedly. "Ugh, shut the fuck up! Not everything is a joke, you dumbass clown!"

"You're right," you say, smiling down at her wickedly. "The only motherfuckin' joke up in this joint is _you_."

Her eye twitches, and she swiftly moves to deliver a punch to your gut. It knocks the breath out of you for a second, but you don't flinch, instead lashing out and grabbing her wrist. Your other hand wraps around her neck and forces her back against the wall with a loud _thud_. She wheezes and struggles against you, kicking at you futilely, but you've got her pinned there, claws digging into her skin. 

Craning your neck so that your face is level with hers again, you smirk, showing off your crooked fangs. "Something the matter, sis?"

"Yeah," she pants defiantly, her chest heaving. "You smell like shit."

"You look like shit." Your fingers tighten around her throat and wrist, tiny droplets of teal blood beading under your claws. 

Pain flits across her face for a second, but even though she's short of breath her response is as obstinate as ever. "Great comeback, did your lusus teach that one to you?" Then she lets out a cackle that sounds more like a cough. "Oh wait, that's right. _Your lusus never cared enough about you to schoolfeed you_."

For a moment your mindspace is overwhelmed by rage. That moment is all it takes for you to let go of her wrist and pull your hand back, curling it into a fist and punching her across the face with a sickening _crunch_. Then the palm of your other hand presses down harder on her throat, blocking her windpipe. 

Breathing heavily, you drink in the way her expression becomes panicked, her fingers reaching up and weakly scrabbling at your arm as she strains for oxygen she can't get. You think her cartilage nub is broken; it looks slightly out of place, and blood is dribbling out of one nostril. 

She looks the best like this: broken, terrified, unable to speak. But you don't want to kill her, not yet. There's still time before every heretic on this damned rock drops like flies, and that time isn't now, as tempting as Terezi has made it to end her horrid existence right here and now.

You loosen your grip and throw her onto the floor in a trembling heap, where she gasps for air, attempting to prop herself up on her elbows. You respond by kicking her hard in the ribs, causing her to cough and slump down again, a puddle of blood forming beneath her face. Kneeling at her side, you reach down and tangle your fingers in her hair, yanking her up by it and eliciting a hiss of pain. She bares her teeth at you and spits blood at your face, but she doesn't look the least bit intimidating, and you can see the fear in her eyes. _How beautifully hideous_.

Bending down until your lips are almost touching her ear, you murmur, "I'd suggest you up and _watch your motherfuckin' mouth_... they say that words can up and kill you, if you're not careful." Pulling away, you drop her altogether and get to your feet, giving her one last kick in the stomach for good measure. The groan of agony she lets out as she curls in on herself and clutches her middle is better than any music.

Brushing off the flecks of teal on your person as nonchalantly as if nothing happened, you tell her, "Oh, and by the way... Heard your human's up and lookin' for you. Y'know, the one who can't _motherfuckin' rap worth shit_. Might wanna clean yourself up, 'fore he sees you like that. Be a pretty undignified way for our little secret to come all out and fuckin' make itself known, wouldn't it?" 

As you turn to leave, you savor the look of anguish on her face. "Been a pleasure as always, sis," you call over your shoulder as you climb back into the vent, remarkably self-satisfied. She's miserable, better off strung up on one of her nooses than spending time with you, and you've never felt more alive.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i was listening to fall out boy when i wrote this
> 
> (hahaha i hate myself)


End file.
